


The Weather Outside Is Frightful

by swevene



Category: Kushiel's Legacy - Jacqueline Carey
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Multi, Phedre's Boys, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-27
Updated: 2013-02-27
Packaged: 2017-12-03 18:20:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/701239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swevene/pseuds/swevene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A cold, snowy night in Montrève is made a little warmer with love. And hot threesomes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Weather Outside Is Frightful

“He’s late.” The drapes at the window were drawn against the winter cold and it was almost cozy, the room illuminated by Fortun’s candle and the flickering fire. The room was far too quiet with just the two of them—Fortun reading in bed and Remy working at one of the projects he always had to keep his clever hands busy. He hated to be idle, hated to be still, and this waiting game was about to drive him mad. 

“I have given up hope of his ever arriving on time.” Fortun’s voice was quiet and deep, and he laid his book aside, stretching and looking over at Remy, his eyes darker than ever with the promise of desire. “If it worries you, come over here and let me distract you. It will serve him right for his tardiness.”

Remy chuckled and gratefully laid his knife and the figure he’d been carving aside, pulling off his shirt and breeches to join the darker man in bed. It was an offer that was far too tempting to resist, even if they had been waiting for their third fellow. Fortun had a calming presence that Remy had often found reason to appreciate. “As though he won’t enjoy the view when he comes in. If he ever does—do you think it’s a shepherdess or a stable boy this time?”

“I’m sure we can find out.” Fortun drew Remy under the covers and leaned in for a kiss, pressing him down against the soft mattress and taking control of it with the same quiet confidence that he had in everything, the same grace that had attracted Remy from the moment they met. It was easy to lose track of time this way, kissing and rubbing, tangled together. 

The youngest of Phedre’s Boys announced his arrival by slamming the door shut behind him and burrowing rapidly between the two of them, eliciting a yelp from Remy—the contrast between Fortun’s heat and Philippe’s frozen body was an almost painful shock. “It is as cold as Cassiel’s balls out there,” he sighed, rubbing his chilly nose down Remy’s neck and making Remy squirm. “Warm me up.”

Fortun laughed and wrapped his arms around him from behind, pulling the boy’s body against his. Remy often had reason to be jealous of the fact that he never seemed overly troubled by the cold, especially at times like this. “And what were you doing outside in this weather? I’d have thought that tonight of all nights you’d want to be somewhere warm.”

“Like this,” Remy suggested, ruffling Philippe’s blond locks. “Nice and snug, with your lovers close at hand and no need to freeze them half to death by coming in like a gust of winter wind.”

“I was busy,” Ti-Philippe responded, his voice muffled by the way he had it buried against Remy’s shoulder, his voice buzzing against his skin in a way that made him want to laugh. “And don’t ask me how, because I won’t tell you.”

“That sounds like a challenge.” Remy grinned and rolled his hips against Philippe’s, sliding his hands down his chest and frowning at the fabric there. “Elua, why did you come in here dressed? That makes everything more difficult.”

“I was in a hurry!” Philippe squirmed as Remy took his time, teasing fingertips tracing over his stomach through the cloth of his shirt. “As you would be, if you’d been frozen half to death.”

“Hence why I was in here with someone to keep me warm, rather than out there with only the wind and snow for company.” Remy chuckled and shifted away a little, pushing his shirt up to get it off of him. He was content not to waste any more time on teasing Philippe, in spite of the fact that it was much too enjoyable . “Move your arms, this needs to come off.”

Philippe unwound himself reluctantly, letting Remy draw his shirt off and kiss down his neck while Fortun worked at the laces of his breeches until he could slide a hand inside. In spite of his claims of being half-frozen, Remy could tell that he was hot enough from the way he squirmed against the ministrations of Fortun’s hand, tilting his head to press his mouth against Remy’s.

Remy was not about to give in to that so quickly. “Ahhh, none of that. Not until you tell us why you were late.”

“Fortun…” Philippe cast an imploring look over his shoulder at the larger man. He was not much given to pouting, but Remy had always thought him rather charming when he did it—fortunately, Fortun was made of sterner stuff.

“He’s right. We were expecting you tonight and you were very late.” His voice was as quiet and calm as ever, despite the writhing body pressed up against him. “You owe us an explanation, or at least a thorough apology.”

“I think simply the explanation would suffice.” Philippe’s refusal to explain was going to frustrate Remy dreadfully, he could feel it already, and he exacted some slight vengeance by nipping Philippe’s ear rather sharply. The boy moaned but shook his head resolutely. “No? Then that will have to be a very lovely apology indeed.”

“You are cruel taskmasters. _Cruel_.” With a grumble that did not seem entirely sincere, Philippe slid down between them, his hot breath brushing over the skin he’d cooled with his body, his tongue detailing designs over Remy’s skin. 

“Ah, but at least it’s warm down there…” Remy made his voice mockingly cruel, but found himself distracted when Philippe strayed from his path to tease a nipple, tugging it with his teeth before he continued downward. He worked his fingers into his blond locks, arching against his mouth and attempting to shove him down a little faster. 

Fortun took pity on them both and kissed Remy thoroughly, pulling his attention away from Philippe’s slow movements. It was rare for Fortun to grow impatient, even in bed—their mistress called him ‘steady Fortun’, and for good reason. He was Remy’s anchor and Philippe’s safe harbor all in one, and at times like these, when Philippe was being deliberately annoying and Remy was about to pull out his pretty blond hair if he didn’t hurry up, he was more valuable than jewels.

It still felt like far too long before Philippe’s tongue flicked over the taut skin of Remy’s shaft, making him gasp into Fortun’s mouth and bite at his lip. The light, quick movements of his tongue bid fair to drive him to distraction even more quickly, and Remy rocked against his mouth helplessly, his begging swallowed up by Fortun.

Finally, finally, he could feel himself being engulfed in the heat of Philippe’s mouth, and for all that Philippe had complained of being cold, his mouth was a wonderfully warm channel of heat that Remy thrust into eagerly. It felt as though he would burst almost at once, but he held on, letting Philippe work his lips and tongue as skillfully as any adept, in Remy’s opinion. It wasn’t as though he’d had less practice at it.

It was a moment of exquisite pleasure that stretched on and on, with Fortun’s mouth sealed over his, kissing him with the passion that those who didn’t know him rarely expected from the sober man, and Philippe’s eager ministrations to his cock pushing him to even higher heights of bliss.

It was at times like these that he could clearly feel Naamah’s presence there with them, enfolding them. Philippe had once suggested that living in the household of a servant of Naamah made everyone especially blessed in the matters of desire. Remy had pointed out that no, it was really just Philippe, but he had to admit that when they were together like this, twined so tightly that they were nearly inseparable, it did feel as though they were blessed.

He came with a muffled cry, his seed spilling into Philippe’s mouth, his hands tugging sharply at the blond’s hair. He could feel Fortun’s teeth scrape against his, a sharp counterpoint to the haze of pleasure that washed over him, wiping away his thoughts like chalk on a slate. He relaxed, feeling Fortun’s arms slide around him and Philippe resurface from under the blankets to nuzzle him, but he didn’t move, or perhaps he couldn’t—all he could do was lie and watch them with each other, kissing and touching, Philippe’s skin hot against his now.

The winter wind couldn’t touch them in here—not with each other to keep them warm.


End file.
